Rise and Shine?
by whispered touches
Summary: Remus Lupin's boxers were on fire, and it was his wife's fault. One-shot.


Rise and Shine?

Remus Lupin's boxers were on fire.

He screamed like a little girl as he ran around the kitchen table, frantically trying to put it out before his buttocks – or worse – were burned off. Tonks was right behind him, half laughing as she tossed water on his backside in an attempt to quell the flames, only to miss and drench either some other part of Remus' body or any furniture in their tiny cottage.

This chaos was his wife's fault.

Tonks had woken up that morning to sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. She had nearly gotten all the way out of bed before she became aware that she wasn't wearing any clothes. She quickly fixed the problem by picking up the shirt nearest her – meaning she dove across the room to get to her husband's before could awaken and steal it from her. She found her knickers right underneath it, and she stumbled over to the curtains to draw them closed.

Impressed with herself for managing not to trip in her first ninety seconds of consciousness, she had smiled at Remus' sleeping form and decided to make breakfast for the two of them. This was a first: He usually did all the cooking.

It had not turned out to be a good idea.

Tonks had already gotten the frying pan ready when she remembered that she had no idea how to make eggs. Or bacon. Or food, really.

"You've already committed yourself to it," she reminded herself in a mumble, her mother's sternness and her father's stubbornness coming back to her. "You have to follow through."

So she cracked an egg over the frying pan. It looked like it was fine, and she cracked another. Not wanting to risk a third, Tonks closed the carton and turned to replace it in the fridge, but, of course, Tonks being Tonks, she tripped over air and landed right on top of the remaining eggs, making a few yolks and whites come oozing out the holes in the side. Although she knew she would regret it, she opened the case to reveal a mess of empty shells and egg goo. She groaned and banged her forehead on the floor, which did nothing to ease her frustration, as now she had a headache to match the aching jaw she'd gotten when she'd crash-landed.

She cursed herself for leaving her wand in the bedroom as she cleaned the mess, thoroughly annoyed with poultry and already fed up with her task. Rubbing her jaw, she got plates and silverware out, still not completely sure how she was going to go about serving the eggs.

Before she could solve this enigma, however, she heard a distinct groan coming from the direction of the bedroom, signaling that Remus was joining the land of the living as well. Tonks bit her lip and watched the eggs nervously.

Her husband was obviously more competent at walking – even when still half-asleep – than she, and also more competent at finding his underwear efficiently. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Tonks actually cooking.

"Breakfast?" he asked, not bothering to mask his surprise. "You? Frying pan?"

Tonks rolled her eyes at him. "Your eloquence is absolutely _dazzling_, Mr. Lupin."

Remus stifled a yawn. "Why thank you, Mrs. Lupin."

A dull blush rose in her cheeks – she still wasn't used to that title. He smiled at her, a youthful twinkle of mischief in his eye. She walked toward him.

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Lupin," she said, and sat down in his lap.

"Am I?"

"Indeed."

Any further response from the werewolf was silenced as his mouth became otherwise occupied. His scarred hands tangled themselves in her hair – its usual bubblegum pink – and hers played at the nape of his neck, down his shoulders and resting on his bare chest. He shivered involuntarily, either because her hands were cold or something else; he moved his lips to trail kisses along her jaw.

"I had a dream last night," said Tonks, trying to regain some of her breath.

"Mhm," mumbled Remus against her neck. "What was it about?"

"I'm not sure," she muttered. "The details are a bit fuzzy… I remember something about firewhiskey… and rabbit stew… and nudity. Lots of nudity."

Remus pulled away to look at her.

"Dora?"

"Yes?"

"That" – he struggled to keep the laughter out of his voice – "that was last night."

"It was?" He nodded, and she knit her eyebrows. "_Really_?"

"Yes, really."

"Huh." Tonks removed herself from his lap, whipping around a little teasingly. "Well, it was a very nice dream."

He smirked. "I would imagine it was."

She walked around to the other side of the table. "Is Mr. Lupin feeling a little cocky this morning?" she said.

"Perhaps," allowed Remus, not taking his eyes off of her. "And perhaps Mrs. Lupin should stop calling her husband 'Mr. Lupin.'"

"All right, all right," said Tonks, "don't get your boxers in a twist."

The comment prompted the reaction she'd hoped for: he flushed red, suddenly uncomfortable in his own kitchen – in his own kitchen, which was usually quite drafty when he wasn't actually dressed… he wondered why that was…

His answer was in the frying pan.

He swore loudly and profusely, something that would have normally made Tonks say, "What a mouth you have, Remus!" but his wife had obviously spotted the trouble as well and was staring, dumbfounded, at the fire that had become of the eggs.

"How do you set fire to _eggs_?" she mumbled.

Remus turned his stunned gaze on her. "Don't just stand there! Do something!"

Tonks shook herself, springing into Auror mode. She dashed into their still-dark bedroom and searched blindly for one of their wands – she crawled around their room on her hands and knees, until she finally found something long and thin, and deciding that whoever's wand it was (or at least, she thought it was a wand), it was going to have to do.

She hurried back into the kitchen to find Remus battling the flames with a washrag, which was doing nothing but angering the fire. Panic truly starting to set in now, Tonks pointed the wand and cried, "_Aguamenti_!"

Instead of a jet of water issuing from the tip, yet another stream of fire came out, somehow making its way directly to her husband's backside. He yelped in pain and flapped at his butt with the rag. He managed to spit out, "That must be my wand – it's very territorial – here – give it to me –"

Tonks did so and moved into a corner, wanting to melt into the wall. Remus quickly put out the egg-massacre-fire out but dropped his wand as soon as only smoke was left, still attempting to put out his butt-fire. Tonks didn't pick it up for fear of burning his buttocks even worse: The only thing she could think to do was seize a glass, fill it up in the tap, and toss the water onto her husband's bottom. She missed several times and had to refill the glass while he continued to run around the kitchen like a chicken with its head cut off. She tried not to laugh at the quite comical image.

By the time his butt was safe from further harm, Remus was fairly soaked, as was most of the kitchen floor, almost to the point where it wasn't irrational to fear slipping. He groaned in pain as he lay down on his stomach. Tonks, doing a very bad job of hiding her grin, knelt next to him.

Remus glared at her. "You are never, ever cooking breakfast again."

* * *

_A/N: Well, I quite enjoyed writing that. :) This is my response to amerikanka's Opening Line Competition - I hope I did it justice. Also, on Remus' wand - this is concerning wand loyalties and such, all that crap we learn from Ollivander in DH, and the Marauders were really the most important thing in Remus' life, but he shut everyone else out - therefore, it's harder to get his trust, and by extension, his wand's trust. Y'know?_

_In other words, his wand's just not used to Tonks. It was mad at her._

_Please, no favoriting without reviewing._

_So, yeah! Hope you enjoyed it. _

_~whispered touches_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Remus Lupin or Nymphadora Tonks, or anything else recognizable in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling and her affiliates. No copyright infringement is intended._


End file.
